Lover's Leap
by messyhead
Summary: Sequel to "Another Runner'. Thanks to OJFan for her helpful suggestions, and the members of 'The Bionic Project for their support.
1. Chapter 1

It was noon, and as usual Lyle and Oscar ate lunch on the dock, accompanied by a stiff breeze that blew their sandwich crumbs and wax paper and empty beer cans into the water if they didn't hang onto them. Also as usual, Lyle was regaling his companion with tales of adventure in the Second World War. Oscar didn't much begrudge him this pleasure, except that Lyle had now cycled through each story at least twice. Today brought his third retelling of 'Duke the Sharpshooter and the German Latrine'.

"Have I told you this one?" Lyle asked, not wanting an honest answer. He giggled delightedly as he prepared to launch. Anytime he was going to tell an off color story or joke, he would redden, hunch over, place his fist to his mouth as though he were covering a cough, and make a noise that could be best described as "tee-hick" – a high, wheezy giggle that ended in a full glottal stop. Oscar smiled absently and stared out at the lake, wondering what he was going to do with the rest of his life – his pointless, inconsequential life.

When he pulled his dramatic exit from Washington, he told himself he was going to work with his hands – having always harbored a vague, romantic notion that physical labor was the only truly noble form of work - and thirty years ago that might have been fine, but now, at fifty, it didn't bring him nearly the pleasure and satisfaction he had hoped – and it looked as though he was stuck with it.

Perhaps he would have left Montana altogether to seek out some new challenge, but the lake kept him there. He had grown to love the place passionately. It provided him the only deep and abiding pleasure in his life of exile.

From where he sat he could just make out the dash of blue on the horizon that was Big Bull Island. The other day he had taken his little fishing boat to it after work for a look round. That entire clump of islands was known for its treacherous shallows, and he had found it necessary to lean out over the side and look down as he puttered along. It was deceiving – he thought the danger was overstated, for the water was an opaque, inky blue, and then all of a sudden it was green, the bottom visible, and then there he was, practically right on top of the enormous sharp boulders jutting up to the surface.

"It was pitch black – no moon, nothing. Couldn't see a foot in front of your face. Except for Duke. I tell you, that guy had the night vision of a big cat." Lyle said, with exactly the same enthusiasm he had employed on the first telling.

It was the loneliness that was got to him most. It made him hang around with Lyle at lunch, it made him haunt the Polson Tavern after work – but those efforts made no dent in his desolation. There was a waitress at the coffee shop with whom he sometimes exchanged a word or two, and she was friendly in her brusque way, but that took the edge off only slightly. He had never experienced loneliness in this way before – he supposed he had been too busy and too focused to notice.

He missed his friends in Washington – Rudy and Louise of course, always reliable companions for a late night scotch or a small dinner party, his few friends from the political scene, his old Navy pals – even Russ. He actually missed Russ.

But the one person he missed above all others was Jaime.

"That guy could shoot a tick off a wood nymph's tit at a hundred paces, I tell you." Lyle leaned into Oscar for emphasis, his eyes bright and intent.

Her visit had been catastrophic to his equilibrium. Having held her close to him all night, having kissed her - he missed her so keenly he felt much of the time as though someone had punched him in the chest. Though he tried _not_ to think of her, it was a hopeless effort. He constantly caught himself speaking to her in his mind, telling her of his doubts, telling her about the shallows of Bull Island, of the owls hooting to each other night after night, of the spooky chatter of the coyotes in the distance, of Lyle's coarse turn of phrase.

His mental discipline had failed him completely, but then, missing her at least kept her near him in some small, pathetic way. But soon his memories of her would grow old, and she would continue on in a life that would be entirely unknown to him. The very thought was crushing. She'd probably marry Chris and have children - and he, Oscar, would become nothing more than a distant memory to her.

"So Burtinski got on one side of the privy, and I got on the other side, see, and we started to rock that thing!"

Chris didn't deserve the loathing Oscar felt for him. In fact he was kind of a nice guy – just not good enough. Besides, he looked exactly like a men's wear model in the Sears catalogue. That in itself was intolerable. He wondered for the hundredth time if Jaime had reported to Chris that he was in love with her. He thought it was unlikely, but there was still a chance, and he felt the usual pang of embarrassment. What must Jaime think of him, spilling his guts in that ridiculous way? He winced and turned his attention to Lyle, who was nearing the climax of his appalling story, his face lit with excitement.


	2. Chapter 2

I had been so looking forward to summer – it's always such a relief to get out of that hot classroom full of seething thirteen year olds – but I just couldn't get into the summer groove. I didn't know what to do with myself. Chris and I had made plans to drive up the Oregon coast to do some hiking, but that was now off of course, and I was left with more loose ends than I knew what to do with. Everything was off – off kilter.

My relationship with Chris was the second casualty of that covert trip to Flathead Lake – the first casualty being my peace of mind. When I came home I looked at my life through new eyes, and I found everything lacking – most especially my expectations of myself. It took me about a week to admit it, but Oscar was right - about a bunch of things - but most obviously he hit the nail on the head about my boyfriend. Chris _was _dull. Dullness is safe and comforting until you notice how dull it is, and it then it drives you crazy. How had I not seen it before? Was I distracted by that golden hair, or those dimples? Am I really _that _shallow?!

I have to admit Chris was impressive in his determination to win me back. He flew out from Washington right away, and after hours of talking it over, (tears, hugging, yelling, pleading, reasoning, bargaining) we decided to stay together – the routine you go through when you know a relationship is ending. The pit of my stomach told me it was ending. Sure enough I started to dread his weekend visits and humor him through his phone calls, so then I ended it for good. It was awful, naturally, but the pain went away so quickly it was clear I had made the right decision. I was left with a lingering guilt, but then that's only fair - I hurt him and dashed his fondest hopes.

Oscar made me realize that I had been shoring up my sense of security to counteract my discomfort with the dangers of my intelligence work, and I had overcompensated so far that my imagination was taking me in the direction of a first grade _Dick and Jane_ reader instead of heading me in a direction that would better suit my rather complicated personality.

It really did irk me that Oscar saw me so much more clearly than I did. I wasn't going to be satisfied with the white picket fence life – but I couldn't stand the OSI life either, so what DID I want? Having discarded much of what I thought I was important to me, I was almost panicky, and the new thoughts that were bouncing around in my head didn't make any sense to me at all.

It seems I had headed down a path in life and had suddenly arrived at a huge precipice – and looking over the edge I couldn't even see the ground below. Now I was standing there, unable to work out a safe way down and not knowing what to do next. If only bionics could help with mental challenges the way they do with the physical ones!

I was constantly grouchy - even trying the patience of dear, sweet, loving Helen. I tried to help her tile their upstairs bathroom, (Jim wisely stayed out in the barn) but after too much swearing and heavy sighing on my part she shooed me out! That evening she sat me down and told me I ought to take a vacation, that a change of scene might do me good.

As soon as she said it, my mind pulled its new frustrating trick of racing off to Montana. It was doing that, against my better judgement, multiple times every day. The truth is I had been thinking about Oscar a lot. At first it seemed like I was thinking about that big lecture he gave me, but then I realized I was thinking mostly about _him_. A hundred times a day I wondered what he was doing, what he would say to me if he were standing in front of me, or I replayed every word he'd ever spoken to me, every laugh we'd ever shared, every minute of the time we'd spent together. _Did he miss me?_ That was the inappropriate question that kept repeating itself over and over. He filled my head.

I finally couldn't deny it anymore – I yearned for his presence, sure that if he were with me, the gnawing loneliness would go away. I was actually _pining_ – for Oscar Goldman, of all people.

Honestly, I was shocked, though I guess I shouldn't have been, considering the way I've always felt about him. I've always loved the difference between who he appears to be and who he actually is. If you saw his picture in the paper you'd think he he looks like The Man – humorless, formal, distant, frighteningly powerful – and he's none of those things. He's sweetly soft hearted, (to the point of it being a liability in his career) kind, funny, thoughtful, strong, sometimes goofy, and most disarmingly - almost completely free of ego. (That's a rare trait. I can't lay claim to it myself.) And even though we're very different people, we clicked early on in our professional relationship, and instantly became fast friends.

Anyway, despite the fact that we'd had a close friendship, and even a mutual attraction, (unexpressed until Montana) I'd never _really _thought of him as a romantic partner. He was my boss. He was nineteen years older. He was an insane workaholic.

Montana changed everything for me. For the first time I saw him completely free from the constrictions of his job. He wasn't discreet and professional, just totally real. The way he truly spoke his mind astonished me – even though some of it was hard to hear. Somehow it completed the picture for me, filled him out, made him totally human - and made me fall in love with him. And then, well, there was that kiss, too - that kiss was really something.

Falling in love with him created more questions than it answered, so that's why I resisted - but I just couldn't help myself. It wasn't optional. The thought of trying to mesh my life with his was too complicated to even imagine – worse than it would have been if he were still at the OSI. My very presence would increase his risk of being caught by somebody, and though I wanted to believe he was only Felix Hall the boat repairman temporarily, what if he was planning on hiding out forever? Where could I possibly fit into that – and did I even want to?

But when Helen told me I should get away, I jumped at the chance - absolutely compelled and totally scared at the same time.


	3. Chapter 3

I was going to have to take precautions for this trip. Russ had been calling every couple of weeks to update me on the NSB's hunt for Oscar. In case the phone was bugged, he made it sound like he was simply filling me in, but he knew I could report back to Oscar if necessary. Fortunately, it wasn't necessary. It went just as Oscar had predicted. After about a month of a full on search, the Secretary wanted to know why so many resources were being used to hunt a retired civil servant with an impeccable record – and the hunt was called off.

But I still couldn't quite believe the NSB would give up so easily. It wasn't like them. I was certain they had been watching me closely, and as far as I knew some guy in a black suit was still hiding in the bushes at the ranch. I told Helen and Jim I was going to San Diego to see a college friend and I roped my friend and fellow teacher Betty in on another little bit of subterfuge. She knew I did occasional work for the government and (being an avid reader of Jean Le Carré novels) she was thrilled to assist – even though she had absolutely no clue what I was up to. After I'd made the arrangements, she picked up my rental car and drove it into the parking garage of her apartment in town. I dropped my car off there, and took the rental out of the alley exit. If anyone was following me, I hoped that small ruse would be enough to give them the slip. I also tied my hair up and made Max lie down in the back seat for good measure.

I did all the things that make road trips a pleasure. I ate in greasy truck stops that featured great hamburgers and the inevitable "world famous" pies, I made unscheduled stops on side roads to walk Max, I bought rolls of Lifesavers and bags of potato chips and left the debris on the floor of the car, I admired the views, I sang along to the radio, I slept in tidy little motels run by kindly people just dying for a chat. None of it really sunk in. My brain refused to stop grinding away over and over again on the same topics – Oscar, Oscar and me, life and me, life and Oscar and me… What if I got there and found that I had invented this lovesickness I was feeling? What if he had reservations I hadn't thought of? And after all that – there was still the precipice. So we acknowledge our feelings for each other, THEN what? Life – what would life look like? I almost turned the car around three times.

At least that concentrated time alone (Max is not much of a conversationalist) produced one bit of clarity. I did not want to spend the rest of my life teaching. It's amazing how your head can fight your heart and obscure the truth from you for a long time. When I allowed myself to express the thought _I might be getting sick of teaching_ out loud, the truth of it was undeniable. I spent so much energy on lesson planning, marking, planning field trips and extra curricular activities, attending staff meetings – when all I've ever really wanted to do was help people, face to face. So often I didn't feel like I was helping anybody. It felt more like crowd management. When I got my degree I was really thinking of it as a back up to my tennis career – a safety net. But when teaching became my whole future, it felt stifling.

I'm embarrassed to say that for a moment or two I as angry at Helen. She's one of my greatest allies and I love her dearly, but she pushed the teaching thing … she comes from an era when girls became teachers or nurses, and boys became policemen and firemen and astronauts. My own parents would have pushed me harder – especially my Mother – but you can't blame other people for your choices in life, and of course I've loved teaching, so I stopped being mad at Helen pretty quickly.

Somewhere in Idaho, when I turned my thoughts back to Oscar, I decided I would tell him that Russ had sent me to say that the search was off. That way I could assess my feelings for him without having to pour my heart out immediately upon arrival. It felt devious - but necessary.

I hit the Montana border early on the third day, and decided to blast right through to the lake. Just after lunch in Missoula, I got caught behind a very large, very stinky truck with "My-T-Fine" emblazoned the back. There was a lot of traffic going the other way (a whole fleet of motor homes) so I was forced to hang back behind Mr. My-T-Fine, nearly dying of frustration, going ten miles an hour slower than the speed limit. Worse yet, the black smoke that belched from the back of that thing wafted through the air vents even when I'd closed them, and after half an hour I felt sick and headachy. I should have pulled over and let him get a good distance in front of me, but there was _no way_ I was going to stop.

By the time I arrived in Polson three hours later, I was a bit of a mess. I'd managed to lose the truck, but the effects were still with me. In addition to a headache and nausea, I was suffering from a severe case of nerves. I hadn't forgotten how mad he was the last time I showed up.

I parked at the old hotel near the water (the one I was supposed to have stayed in last time) and walked into the lobby. Down the hall was a pay phone, and as there was no one in sight I figured it was safe to use it. With shaking hands I found the number for _Lyle's Boat Repair_ in the book, and dialed the number.

Lyle answered promptly, and said he would retrieve "Felix." I was so relieved – at least he was still there. I could have called him from the road to ensure I hadn't driven all this way on a wild goose chase, but I think I feared he would tell me to go home again, so I didn't.

After an agonizing wait of a lifetime (couldn't have been more than forty seconds) Oscar finally answered.

"It's me." I said. "I'm here."

"Ja… Ja… Janet?" he stuttered. "Where …. where are you?"

"At the hotel in Polson. I need to see you." The very sound of his voice made me shake.

"Just a minute."

I heard him cup the receiver in his hand, muffling a conversation between himself and Lyle.

"One more thing." I heard him say. "Behave yourself."

"What?" I said.

I realized he hadn't been speaking to me when his voice was suddenly close in my ear again, giving me directions to a boat slip on a point. We were now finally in the same place at the same time. I only hoped that emotionally we were also in the same place at the same time. With a wobbly hand I scribbled the directions down, and in another moment I was back in the car and on my way.

I turned off the main highway and drove down a long lane shaded by tall pines. As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw a large and beautiful antique speedboat slowing as it neared the dock, and then I saw that it was Lyle. He waved at me, and Max and I got out of the car. Lyle's expression was exuberant and mischievous until he saw Max.

"It's okay!" I called out above the throaty rumble of the motor. "He's friendly."

"It's his toenails I'm worried about!" Lyle shouted back.

There was a lot of beautiful glossy wood on that boat, and as I couldn't account for Max's toenails, I handed Lyle my bag and lifted Max into my arms as I stepped onboard. He hates being picked up – he gets a baleful, tragic expression, as though embarrassment was the worst thing that could ever possibly happen. Fortunately he refrained from wriggling, because if he had we both would have ended up in the lake. I gently placed him in the hull, and told him to sit, which he did beautifully.

"Okay?" I bellowed.

"Okay." He said approvingly. "Strong girl!" he added.

I was grateful that the motor was too loud for a lot of light conversation. I was less grateful that Lyle felt compelled to show off for me by cutting sweeping arcs through the water, as my stomach turned along with them. He looked at me sidelong from the wheel, a knowing smile on his lips.

"Felix said he needed me to take you on a detour so he could shave!" he yelled finally.

I nodded and smiled. On one hand, I was thrilled that my presence was enough for Oscar to want to shave that nasty beard. On the other hand, I was just dying to get off that boat.

We must have been out on the water about twenty minutes. I should have tried to enjoy myself, but I couldn't. I gritted my teeth and pressed an artificial smile onto my lips. Max resigned himself quickly, and lay at my feet, his ears back. I wondered if he felt like I did.

Finally Lyle slowed the boat and expertly brought it alongside a dock. I was so happy to see land I threw my bag out, then Max, and then me - all before he had even tied up.

"That's great Lyle!" I called back to him with a salute. "I really appreciate it!"

He winked and smiled and gave me a thumbs-up signal. I took a big grateful gulp of air and treasured the feeling of solid ground under my feet. I felt like my insides had been stirred up with an eggbeater.

As the big boat roared off back in the direction from which we'd come, I turned and walked up the hill, as instructed by Oscar. I was to go to the lane, make a right, and keep going till I got to his place. Was he really that close – under a hundred yards away from me?


	4. Chapter 4

I had gotten about halfway to the road when I heard Oscar call. Max barreled up the hill the instant he heard his voice, eager to greet his old friend. I could just see him up at the lane, jumping exuberantly, giving Oscar a good sloppy mauling. I really ought to train him not to do that, but in truth I find it cute. As I drew closer, Oscar walked toward me, wiping his face and wearing a cautious smile.

"Jaime…" he said in a sweetly astonished voice, and folded me into his arms.

"Oscar." I replied with a weak laugh. I rested my chin on his shoulder and closed my eyes. Nobody hugs like Oscar – the secret is those long arms, which practically wrap around you twice. His hair was damp, and smelled nicely of shampoo, and his face was smooth and freshly shaved. For that minute he held me that headache vanished, the nausea was gone, and everything was perfect.

"This is a nice surprise." he said, his tone slightly formal.

"I'm glad you think so." I said, pulling back to look at him. "This greeting is a little nicer than the one I got last time."

"Oh…that wasn't me." Oscar frowned and shook his head. "That bearded guy? That was my evil twin brother."

He took my bag from me as I tried to get myself composed, and asked me questions – would I stay in his spare room (I was hoping for better, but I said yes), how long would I stay (not sure), how was the drive, where had I driven from that day, was I tired? He was looking at me closely as I brushed the hair from my face and rubbed my eyes and took in a big breath of air, hoping to take in with it a nice sense of calm and physical well being.

"You okay, Babe? You look a little green around the gills."

"I'm fine - I've just got a bit of a headache and I do feel a little green, as a matter of fact – that Lyle is kind of a wild driver."

"Sorry about that. Do you want to lie down?"

I didn't think I could do that. I'd just twitch and flop around, being far too keyed up to stay still. "Maybe I need to go for a swim." Exercise would help.

"Good idea." he replied.

It felt so unbelievably good to be with him again. Any doubts I had were fading fast. If I had let myself, I would have stuck myself to him like velcro, but something held me back. Even though he was clearly happy to see me, he was wary too, a little distant. Had he had a change of heart? Was he embarrassed by our last encounter? So, feeling unsure of myself, I decided to stick to my plan, despite what my heart was telling me. Why can't head and heart always be in agreement? It's so confusing.

"Russ sent me tell you –" I said, beginning my small ruse carefully, "that nobody is on to you, Bill Parr's investigation is officially shut down, but he has taken vacation time to personally look for you in Australia. He's very determined, but he's so far off track I don't think you have to worry**."**

"Well that's gratifying." Oscar replied, though he didn't look particularly pleased.

"So, it looks like you're safe…Felix…or … you're safe from the American government at least."

"Hmm." he murmured thoughtfully. "So, Russ sent you, huh?"

"Yeah." I said, already feeling guilty for lying. "He thought you might be able to breathe easier if you knew. He's a good guy, that Russ. He really cares about you."

"He is a good guy." he agreed, his voice flat.

"It's nice to be back here." I said brightly.

"Paradise."

When we entered the cabin I felt like I was in the presence of an old and dear friend - even though I had only been there once before. There was something special about the place – a warm, woodsy, simple charm. You could tell many people had holidayed here. Lots of children had scampered through those screen doors, wet and rambunctious, pine needles stuck to the soles of their feet. Countless games of dominoes and cards had been played on the table, and many huge pots of chili had been cooked on the old stove.

I changed in his bedroom, both thrilled and self conscious that he was only separated from me by the thin curtain that substituted for the bedroom door. I could imagine him in this bed, bundled up, tousled and sleepy, and I wanted him terribly. It may sound odd, but I could feel it in my palms, almost like an itch – the desire to feel his body under my hands. I quickly slipped into my black one piece, tied my hair back and walked out into the living room. He was waiting for me, ostensibly looking at a book. He did a very cute little double take and quickly recovered. He locked his eyes resolutely above my neck and handed me a towel.

"Glacier fed, you know." he said in a warning tone.

"I gather you're not joining me?"

"Nope. You're on your own, kid."

"It sure is nice…" I ran the palm of my hand across his cheek, "to see your face again."

I'm not one of those people who inches my way into the water. I prefer most of life's agonies sharp, abrupt, and cruel rather than slow and nagging. So I dived right in, and the shock of the cold tightened my throat and widened my eyes. For a quarter of a second I thought I might even have a heart attack. I pushed up to the surface with a little yelp and a shudder and surveyed the world from lake level. After a few moments of treading water I acclimatized enough to find the temperature pleasant. Though the water was a little choppy, it was a gorgeous day, so I decided to swim out to the island a quarter of a mile in front of me. If I got cold or bored I could employ the bionics. This is always fun – I can do a tight little kick and skim through the water really fast, arms by my side, and I feel like a torpedo or a shark.

I set off doing the crawl. The steady rhythm and the sound of my own breath calmed my head and heart beautifully. It took about twenty minutes to reach the shore, and I sat on a big rock in the sun for a bit, looking back to the mainland, where Oscar was waiting for me. I loved him, I knew that much. My headache was gone, and the queasy stomach too. Only butterflies were left. I waded back into the water and started out again, eager to get back to him.

He was standing on the beach, a second towel in hand, as I emerged from the water. I hoped he would wrap me up in it and wrap me in his arms at the same time - but no such luck. He simply handed it to me and told me he had made me a cup of tea.

I wrapped my hair up in the towel, and we sat side by side on a lovely bench made almost entirely of white gnarled driftwood. As I sipped my tea we made some stilted but sincere conversation, catching up on anything either of us could think of that wasn't too personal. I moved from stilted to babbling in no time, and he smiled at me indulgently, which made me babble even more. This was my first real opportunity to get a look at him. In one sense, he looked terrific – tanned and slim, no longer the victim of burnt coffee and lousy take out food, late nights and too much scotch. On the other hand, there was something defeated and heavy about him – I don't know how to explain it any other way. He was happy to see me, I knew that – but this was not the aspect of a contented man. I heaved a big sigh to slow myself down, and tracked the progress of a speedboat as it bounced across the water in the distance, buzzing like an angry insect.

"So…how are you?" I said in a tone I hoped would signal a turn to more personal subject matter.

"I'm fine." he replied, altogether too quickly. "Fine."

"How's the boat repair business? Have you found your calling?"

He gazed at me seriously a moment, then leaned over and picked up a pebble and examined it.

"Well…" he said, tossing the pebble into the water, "some mornings… I think I'll scream if I have to look at another outboard motor." He smiled ruefully. "You were right. I am bored out of my mind."

It's always disconcerting when your heart leaps at somebody else's unhappiness, but I'd be a liar if I didn't admit I was thrilled to hear this.

"I'm sorry to hear that." I said. A breeze pushed along the water, making a tight riffled pattern of tiny waves, and then hit us with a little gust. I shivered and pulled my knees up to my chest. "What are you going to do?"

He shrugged. "Keep doing it, I guess. I painted myself into a corner on this one. I've committed myself to lying low pretty much for the rest of my life, and so no matter where I go or what I do, I'm always going to have the same problem." He paused to pick up another rock. I got the impression he needed desperately to talk but was hesitant to do so. "I was thinking… I could build a house as a project, and I think I'd enjoy figuring out how to do that….but I'd need a piece of property, and to buy a piece of property I'd have to access my bank account."

"Hmm. That is awkward. Do you miss the OSI?"

"No." he said firmly.

"Still feeling burnt out?"

"Pretty much. There are aspects I miss, and people, of course, but I still have a kind of… revulsion when I think of it."

"Well they're missing you." I offered.

"They are? That's nice to know." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I look at these guys – like Lyle – they're content repairing boats or working in the hardware store - and I'm so envious of them. That's what I want – a simple life… but I guess …like you said, it doesn't suit me. Lyle senses that I'm restless. Keeps trying to set me up with his wife's cousin - and he's even offered to make me a partner. But I just feel… incomplete…like I'm missing what's important. I want too much. I want - " He shook his head. "Anyway."

"Like a fish out of water." I said quietly.

"How about you? How are you doing?" He obviously wanted to move away from an uncomfortable topic. I wasn't having any of it.

"How is it that you ended up here, Oscar, alone, like this?" I knew I'd never be able to ask this question in an elegant or discreet way, so I figured I might as well go for the bull-in-china-shop approach. "I've never understood how a man like you has stayed single. I mean… is there something wrong with you I don't know about? I just don't get it."

"I don't quite know how to answer that, Jaime." He was taken aback, and fortunately, he was also slightly amused. "I don't _think_ there's anything wrong with me…but maybe I'm not the best judge of that. I never intended to end up on my own…I used to try…but how many times will someone put up with a broken dinner date, or put off that weekend away, or be woken by phone calls at three in the morning? And, well, in recent years, I gave up. I couldn't see the point of trying when my thoughts were, well, elsewhere."

Did he mean that his thoughts were on his work, or with me? "What about those two women whose pictures I saw at your house… in your desk? I was jealous."

He gave me a sidelong glance, and continued as though the second remark had not left my lips. "Oh, that's right. You know all about me now, don't you? You must have seen yourself in that pile."

I nodded and looked down, suddenly mute, my heart lurching in my chest.

"Lovely women, both of them. It just didn't work out. Anyway, I'm fine on my own. Are you going to tell me how you are? Because I want to know." He dipped his head low to catch my eye.

"Well…" I started, "I've been kicking over that picket fence."

"You have? In what way?" His eyes flicked intently over my face.

"I split up with Chris."

"You did?" Several expressions passed over him. One of them looked distinctly like delight, which was then overtaken by concern. "It wasn't because I said he was a sandwich meat or whatever it was, was it?"

"Partly."

He clapped one hand over his eyes. "I'm so sorry - I can't tell you how I've regretted shooting my mouth off like that."

"Oh, but you were _right_, Oscar, that's the problem." I grasped his hand and pulled it from his face. "You got right to the heart of everything - smashed down all my half baked fantasies just like that. Nobody has ever done that before." He seemed to be shrinking into the bench as I spoke. "You don't have to look so guilty." I laughed.

He shook his head and grimaced.

"Don't. Honestly. It was a good thing, and I appreciate it – I do. It hasn't been easy though. I've been feeling … adrift."

"In what way?"

I shrugged. "It's just like you said. The life I've planned is not the life I want. I'm not going to be content with my old life, but I don't yet know what the new one should look like. We have the same problem, you and me."

"You still like teaching don't you?" He looked so terribly worried. I knew how he felt – there's nothing more frightening than when somebody actually listens to your advice.

"Well, yeah, but I don't think I can do it forever. I was thinking about it when I was driving up here. Do you remember, when you were a kid, those tight lipped, bad tempered, burned-out matrons who ruled the classroom with an iron yardstick?"

"Sure."

"I think everyone has at least a couple in their memory banks – and I don't want to be one of them – you can see how it happens. It's difficult to stay fresh and enthusiastic."

"I've always thought teaching was one of the toughest jobs going. But… do you have any notion of what you might like to do instead?"

"You might laugh at me …" I said apologetically, "but I just find people and their problems so interesting … and always in the back of my mind I've wanted more education… so I was thinking about Psychology."

"I'm not laughing. Why would I laugh?" On the contrary he was looking at me as though I had just said the most interesting thing he had ever heard. "You should – you could go back to school."

"I know, but…shouldn't I be finished with school by now? Shouldn't I be a contributing citizen?"

"Jaime," he said, leaning toward me slightly and squeezing my hand, causing me to quiver, "you've done more contributing in three years than most people do in a lifetime. If you went for a doctorate, it would be what – three or four years? Why don't you do it?" He seemed to be downright enthusiastic. "You'd be a wonderful psychologist."

"Maybe." I said diffidently. It helped to hear it said out loud, as a real possibility. I was a little scared of the thought of grad school, but intrigued too. "There are a lot of practical considerations. There's the money, for one thing,- I wouldn't be earning anymore, and I'd have to move…somewhere."

"Mmm." he nodded thoughtfully.

"If I became a psychologist then I'd have an excuse to rescue people."

Oscar laughed. "You'd be putting that skill to good use."

I yearned to lean into him, perhaps nestle my face into his neck, but if I wanted to do that, there were some important words I needed to get off my chest first. I clutched his hand tighter. "I…I…do know something I want." I stuttered. My entire body felt like jello in an earthquake.

"What's that?" He was not looking at me just then, so I waited (holding my breath, feeling like I was going to explode) until his gaze turned back to me.

"I want you. I love you." There, I'd said it! I pressed my lips together, afraid my heart might escape through my mouth.

You might think that when you tell a man you love him, a man who has previously confessed his love for you as fiercely as Oscar did, that he might be thrilled. You might cue the swells of symphonic music as we lean toward each other for that significant kiss, the sun setting in the background. That didn't happen. Instead he leaned back, an incredulous look on his face.

"You're not in love with me Jaime." he said, as though I had just told him I believed in fairies. Without waiting for me to respond, he stood up, walked to the firepit, and began to gather kindling.

"Oscar!" I blurted, following him. "Don't just walk away!" I watched open mouthed as he made a tent of sticks. At least he'd had the decency to turn very pale, and he was suddenly clumsy. For my part I was shaky and shocked. "It's not easy to get those words out, you know, and you just … you just walked away!"

"I'm sorry - I'm not walking away Jaime." he replied, crouching down to arrange the kindling, avoiding my accusing stare. "You don't have to love me Jaime. If you need me for something – anything, I'll be there. I don't know how I can make that promise, but I will."

"But I _do_ love you!" I protested. "I've thought about it long and hard. Why don't you believe me?"

"I think you're in a vulnerable moment in your life, and I represent some sort of security to you."

I pulled the towel tightly around myself, trying to suppress a wave of shivering. Part of it was cold and part of it was a rising sense of humiliation. "I think I ought to know who I'm in love with, Oscar!" Pretty soon my teeth would be chattering. "And would you care to tell me what could possibly be wrong with falling in love with a man you feel safe with? I thought that was a good thing."

He stood up and looked hard at me. I was pretty sure I had some idea of what he was feeling – because I'd been feeling it too – the world was reordering itself right in front of him, and his heart and mind were having a hard time keeping up. That thought made me feel slightly better – but only slightly.

"You thought you were in love with Chris too."

"No I didn't!" Now my teeth _were_ chattering – so violently I wasn't sure he would be able to make out what I was saying. "That's why I broke up with him. There's a world of difference between how I feel about you and I how I feel about Chris."

"Listen." He stood, placed his hands on my shoulders, and tried to sound calm and soothing. "You're cold. Go get in the shower. I'll make us some dinner."

"I don't want dinner, Oscar! I want you!"

"Could you just…let me think?" This was something close to a plea. "Don't look at me like that. I'm sorry. Just…go take a hot shower, okay?"

"Okay." I sighed.

I dejectedly made my way up the path to the bathhouse, a small building separate from the main cabin. This was certainly not what I had expected or hoped for. I should have known. For someone who has often made decisions that have affected the well being of the whole country and occasionally even the whole world, he was a strangely cautious character, with a very distinct fatalistic streak. I figured he had decided that his love for me was unrequited and would always remain that way - so even when I presented him with evidence to the contrary, his impulse was to stick to the original thesis. But then again, maybe I was romanticizing him too much - maybe there _was _something wrong with him. Maybe he couldn't let anyone get close.


	5. Chapter 5

The shower was heaven sent. I stood under the steaming hot water for a long time, trying hard to concentrate on that pure physical pleasure, rather than the painful sense of rejection that was also washing over me. Perhaps I had made a terrible mistake. I pictured myself as a big blue iceberg, slowly melting away to reveal a burning red heart at the core.

My bionic ear, though a remarkable instrument, is not something over which I have complete control. It picks up sounds unbidden – which can be awkward, as there are a lot of things you don't really want to hear. At this moment however, I was nothing but grateful for it- something was filtering through the rush of water. At first I thought it was my imagination, but then I realized I was hearing voices – Oscar's and someone else's – another man. I tuned in, hoping that the conversation would be banal and neighborly, but, naturally - no such luck.

"Why are you doing this?" I heard Oscar say.

"Hell, Oscar, you know Parr's been gunning for your outfit for years. Bill wants the OSI and all your glamorous top secret projects, your carte blanche, your budget - and I get the consolation prize – the NSB."

I felt the blood drain from my head – it could only be Jack Hansen. Somehow, despite my best efforts, I had led him straight here. Nausea instantly twisted my stomach. It sounded like they were right outside the bathhouse. I could also hear a low growl coming from Max – low enough that the two men probably couldn't even hear it.

"Bill can't run the OSI. That's a pipe dream." Oscar replied. "Besides, what the hell are you coming after me for? Russell and Kasher are in charge now."

Leaving the shower running, I stepped out and toweled off as quickly as I could, my heart pounding in my ears.

"You _are_ the OSI, Oscar. We discredit you and Russell and Kasher fall too."

"You have nothing on me. You haven't found a damned thing you can use against me, have you?"

"We'll keep digging till we do."

"You're going to be digging a long time."

"We're very creative people."

As I dressed I considered my options. There was no second exit from the bathhouse. I would have to leave through the only door – and Jack was doubtless ready for me. I had to assume he was armed. Oscar would not even be talking to him if he weren't. I looked at the old window at the side of the building, at my head level. It would still be within Jack's sight line, but might provide me with that all important element of surprise. I picked up the garbage can, flipped it over very quietly, and stepped onto it.

"I don't know why you're pointing that gun at me." Oscar said calmly, "You're not going to use it."

"I'll uses it on that goddamn dog if he so much as budges." The fear in Jack's voice was unmistakable.

"And destroy a million dollars worth of government property?"

Slowly and quietly I inched the window open, wide enough for my head and arm to fit through.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jack snapped.

"Max is bionic, Jack. Didn't you know about that? He has a bionic jaw, as a matter of fact - and I don't like your chances. You may have the gun, but you can't shoot any one of us. Jaime and Max are too valuable, and I think you'd have a hard time explaining why you shot me. What are you going to do?" Oscar sounded so calm you might have thought he was the one holding the weapon.

"I'll tell you what we're going to do." Jack said tersely. "You're going to tell that dog to stay put – or I'll shoot him, no matter how much he's worth. You're going to get into the car. I may not kill you, but I don't mind taking out a kneecap or two. I'll have plenty of time to think up an alibi while dragging your sorry ass back to Washington. And I suggest we leave right now – before she gets in on it."

I had heard enough. Lucky for me, there was a nice, large cake of soap by the sink. I leaned over and picked it up, and then popped my head out of that window like a gopher popping out of a hole. Before Jack had time to react I nailed him in the head with the soap and he reeled back, slamming into the side of his car, just as Max leapt up and grabbed the gun from his hand.

I emerged from the bathroom to see Oscar pushing Jack face down to the ground, wrenching his arm behind his back.

"Sit on this guy for a minute, will you?" Oscar asked me. "I'm going to make a phone call."

I readily agreed, and jammed my knee between Jack's shoulder blades and held his arm at that same unnatural angle.

"Good boy, Max." Oscar said, pausing to pet the big black and tan head. Max was still very much on the job, staring warily at Jack, ready to spring if necessary.

"Guess Oscar's not going to be too happy you led me to him, will he?" Jack said after a moment, in a tone that was surprisingly smug for a man who was face to face with a bionic German Shepherd.

"Congratulations Jack. You get a gold star by your name." He had just cemented my worst fear. Oscar was going to be furious. If Jack said anything else to me after that I missed it, as I was busy brooding on what sort of firestorm I would face after he was dealt with.

In a moment Oscar returned from the cabin, announcing that the sheriff was on his way. Though Jack made a few weak taunts to one or both of us, he got nothing but stony silence in return, and soon stopped.

The sheriff arrived in record time, looking flushed and alert. Doubtless he didn't see excitement like this every day. He quickly packed Jack into the back of his car, with stern admonitions about the seriousness of his situation.

"This is a federal matter!" Jack bleated as the sheriff slammed the door shut.

"Bob…" Oscar said cautiously, "This guy will likely tell you a whole bunch of stuff – and only part that is likely to be true is that my name is actually Oscar Goldman, and I am the former director of the OSI. This guy, Jack Hansen, works for the NSB. He's not here in any official capacity - it's more a personal vendetta, and I guarantee you he has no authority – no matter what he tells you. I would appreciate it if you would just take your time processing his case, and hold off letting him make that single phone call until you hear from the OSI. I know it's hard to believe, but I'm just asking you to take my word for it for half an hour or so until you get outside confirmation. Would that be okay with you?"

Bob listened intently, his eyes getting wider as Oscar spoke. "This is a hell of a development, Felix. I'm going to need a statement from you – and your friend here."

"I know." Oscar replied. "If you don't get that call, you go ahead and process him as you see fit, and we'll give you statements. I'd just rather not come in just yet…okay?"

"I think I can do that for you." Bob said with a cautious nod.

It was clear Bob liked Oscar - he was probably one of his buddies from the Polson Tavern. In other circumstances I might have disapproved of the easy ride Oscar was getting, but I told myself that this was how small towns worked, and maybe Bob had brilliant instincts about people. Whatever the case I have to admit I was grateful to him for his loose interpretation of procedure.

I watched the car bump up the lane, my arms folded tightly around myself – I couldn't even bring myself to look at Oscar standing beside me, for fear the hot blast would singe my eyebrows.

"Well." he said, in a bemused tone, and he turned and went into the cabin.


	6. Chapter 6

My feet stayed rooted in the dirt for some time. When I finally made myself go inside, I found him on the telephone, evidently talking to Russ. He tersely asked him to deal with Jack's removal as quickly and discreetly as possible, and added, "Cat's out of the bag now Russ. I'll probably be seeing you soon."

He hung up the phone forcefully, and froze there for a moment, his hand on the receiver.

"I'm… I'm so sorry Oscar." I said weakly. "This is all my fault… I thought I had been careful."

He turned and looked at me, his eyes as hard and as angry as I feared they would be. "Don't worry about it." he replied through gritted teeth – the tone was right, but the words were friendlier than I expected. He walked across the room and looked out the window for what seemed like a long time. Even from the back I could tell how upset he was.

"That" he hissed finally, turning to me and jabbing his finger in the direction of the scene with Jack, "that is why I can't ever go back. That… evil minded gibbon…" He was breathing heavily, his jaw jutting. He paced the room as he spoke. "It's all about power with these guys. It doesn't matter what you think, it doesn't matter what you do – all that matters is how big your budgetary allocation is - how many marbles you've got compared to the other kids! My whole career has been dealing with jerks like that – trying to find ways to get around them, get through them or make them see sense - instead of doing what's important!"

Though I felt extremely tentative, I stopped him in his tracks by placing my hands firmly on his sides. I tried to make myself steady and calm, which wasn't easy, because my confidence was completely shot.

"It's okay." I said, making my gaze soft, looking him in the eye. "Easy, honey. You don't have to work with him anymore." At first he avoided looking at me, frowning at the floor, but I persisted, shifting as he shifted, demanding his attention. I knew I had enormous power over him - I just had to wait until it took effect. When he finally did look me in the eye I smiled encouragingly. His frown lifted a tiny bit, and once his eyes had found mine, they stayed there. His mind was clearly racing, but I didn't know in what direction - such deep pools, those eyes of his. It seemed like a long time, standing there, watching his anger slowly dissipate. His expression finally eased, his shoulders dropped and he let out a sigh. Looking sheepish, he placed his hands over mine.

"I remember that time watching you work with that spooky colt that Jim had just bought - the way you talked softly to him to try to calm him down. You sounded just like that talking to me."

"That's the tone I save for all my large, nervous friends." He smiled and I immediately felt relieved. "I'm so sorry." I said again.

"Babe, don't worry about it. It had to happen sooner or later."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I figure I'll have a day or two to think about it before all hell breaks loose. For now I'm going to add it to the big pile of unresolved life questions." He smiled again. "You want some dinner?"

"Unresolved questions we can figure out together." I suggested.

"Dinner?" he insisted.

"Okay. Yes." I sighed. Now was not the moment to push it.

We gathered up the food, plates and cutlery and took them down to the beach. While I was in the shower, he had lit a fire and thrown some foil wrapped potatoes into it. Now he dropped a large steak onto the blackened grill, along with two ears of corn, also wrapped in foil, and a pot of green beans in water.

"I hope you don't mind…" he said, "I only have one steak, so we'll have to share."

"Of course I don't mind. The question is do _you _mind?"

"Course not." He sat down on the low bench opposite me and gazed pensively into the fire.

"So...have you come to your senses yet?" I asked after a moment.

He shook his head and exhaled. "I want to believe you Jaime, but even if I did, which I'm not sure I do, I can't see how it could work."

"Why not?" I bleated.

The breeze that had played around all afternoon suddenly shifted, pushing a column of smoke straight into his face. He winced and switched seats.

"People come to me when they need me."

"I do need you." I affirmed. "And I think you need me too - but I also think maybe you're a little scared."

"Yeah, maybe." he admitted. "You're not someone I can be casual about."

His expression was dark and deeply serious, and I suddenly felt flushed. "Well, you know, if you didn't want me to have these feelings, maybe you shouldn't have professed undying love for me and kissed me…" I clasped my hands together to steady myself, "the way you did."

He frowned at me uncertainly, then picked up a long stick and began poking at the fire. With a particularly vigorous stab at a log he said, "Russ sent you Jaime! If you'd come on your own steam I might -"

"I _did _come on my own!" I interrupted. "Russ didn't send me. I made that up. I thought I needed a little time to be sure of my feelings…but…I knew as soon as I saw you."

He stopped digging at the embers and stared at me, unblinking, for what felt like a very long time. Actually it was a long time – I know because I was holding my breath.

Suddenly he stood to his feet and beckoned me to join him. Taking my hand, he led me out to the very edge of the beach and pointed out toward the rounded blue mountains rising up on one side of the lake. "That's the east shore." He said. " According to local legend, during World War Two, a flying ace used to buzz over his girlfriend's house over there whenever he could, to say hello and show off a little. Now sometimes the water on this lake is as smooth as glass, and at sunset, the east shore faces straight into the sun. Well, one night our hero did a loop, but couldn't tell where sky stopped and water began, and he hit the water. Neither body or plane was ever found."

"How sad!" I murmured. "Is it a true story?"

"I don't know. Now, over there …" he said, swinging around to point to the opposite side of the lake, where sunset was turning the sky yellow and orange and pink, "that cliff – do you see it?"

Surveying the rocky yellow rangeland in the fading light I could just make out a long slope that ended in a steep rocky descent.

"That's called 'Lover's Leap'. The story is that an Indian princess from one tribe fell in love with a brave from another – a Romeo and Juliet story – and since no one approved of their love, they threw themselves off that cliff."

"Okay, very romantic, very sad, and definitely not true. Anytime there's a story about an 'Indian Princess' and a 'Brave' you know there's some white guy behind it."

"You're probably right." he laughed.

"Your point?"

"Simple. People do stupid things for love. Either you think you're invincible, and that everything will turn out right, which it rarely does," He pointed accusingly at the East shore, "or…" he added, pointing back to the west shore, "you get so stupid you jump off a cliff together."

"Does this mean concede that I love - "

"Jaime," he interrupted, "I've made a supreme hash of my life and now for no reason I can understand you want to get in on it. I'd just hold you back – you can see that, can't you?"

"You don't know what you mean to me." I replied fiercely, "You are the one person in my life who doesn't treat me like fine china. Who was the one who told me not to settle? Who just now suggested I go back to school? Who has always asked me to be my best and been there for me when I've failed?" I tapped him gently on the chest. "You and only you."

"But…but Jaime – I want you to be your best, but you also need a home - where you're safe and cared for. I'm sure of that too. I have nothing – _nothing_! I don't even know my own name anymore."

"What I need is all inside of you. I need your love and loyalty and kindness. I don't need you to pick me up in a limo." I placed the flat of my hand against his chest, and felt his heart as it beat.

He wiped his forehead nervously. I was definitely getting to him. "No, that's not true – maybe you think that right now, but it can't last…"

"Oscar, we have to take that Lover's Leap – metaphorically, that is. It's a new start - we have a chance that most people don't ever get! We'll do better together than we will alone. I just know it!"

"But…but I'm not your type, Jaime. I'm so…_square_. I can't let my hair grow even an inch over my collar… and I don't even _wish_ I'd been at Woodstock…"

I really had to suppress a laugh. "You're right." I replied, striving hard to look as though I was taking him seriously, "those are very serious flaws, but I've thought long and hard and I'm willing to overlook them."

He breathed out heavily, fully aware I was mocking him. "This _is_ serious. I'm almost twenty years older than you are – you'll end up looking after some senile old crock when you're my age." He turned toward the fire pit. "I have to flip that steak."

"Do you always do this?!" I asked, throwing my arms in the air, "Go running off when the emotional heat gets too intense?"

"No." he called back to me, his tone defensive. "Only when I can't see straight and the steak needs turning!"

He circled the fire pit once, and then once more, searching as though he had misplaced something.

"It's gone!" he said.

I didn't need more than a fraction of a second to put that one together. I scanned the beach for the culprit – I'd been so preoccupied I'd almost forgotten him. There he was, lying on the dock, as far from us as possible while still keeping us under surveillance. He was licking his chops.

"Max!" I cried out. "You _bad_ dog!" His head dipped guiltily. I turned back to Oscar, who was standing with his hands on his hips. "He doesn't like it when I ignore him." I said feebly.

He sighed, an expression of grim disapproval on his face. "Let's call it his reward for helping us out with Jack."

He sat down on the bench, looking absolutely overwhelmed. I joined him, sitting as close as possible without touching him. I could feel the air between us – it was electric in all kinds of ways – positive and negative. **"**We can figure out life together." I said gently. "I'll put you in a nursing home if you get to be a pain, if that makes you feel better. Besides - there are no guarantees. I'm one big medical experiment – who knows how long I'm going to last?"

"Don't say that." he replied hotly, glaring at me with reproach.

"It's true!"

He shook his head with a shudder, refusing to consider my statement. "I am completely lost, Jaime." he announced, "and I don't want you to get lost with me."

"You know, I'm going to start thinking you don't really love me, if you keep this up. Maybe my darkest fears about you are true – that you don't really want to be with me – you just want to admire me from afar, where I can't ever disappoint you, where you don't ever have to… " I was going to add _where you don't ever have to touch me and discover I'm only half human_ but I stopped myself. It seemed too much like emotional blackmail. Still, it was true. A small lump rose in my throat, and I swallowed hard to push it away.

His face softened, and he put his arm around me. "No, Babe." he said gently, "I _know_ you. You can irritate me - but you can't disappoint me."

He sensed my sadness, and he kissed me on the temple. We sat quietly for a few minutes, watching the fire. I was trying to settle myself down, and I suspected he was doing the same. I was burgeoning with a whole bunch of very large emotions that felt like they might overflow at any second.

"Tell me about the things you loved when you were a little boy." I said finally.

"What?"

"The things you loved when you were a boy. What were they?"

"That's a funny question." he mused. "Let me think… I suppose my first love was trains, and then fighter planes. I knew every plane, every sea going vessel, every tank and vehicle deployed in the Second World War." He stood up to tend to dinner, thoughtfully piling food onto plates, and carefully prodding the potatoes out of the fire. "I loved mechanics and boats and guns – that kind of thing. I wanted to be a scientist – I had those scary little home chemistry kits for kids and I'd cook up unholy little concoctions that would explode or stink up the house."

He handed me a plate and sat beside me with his. "Then after Sam disappeared I decided to go into the Navy and intelligence, because I was going to be the one to uncover the truth about what had happened him. I kind of imagined myself as Humphrey Bogart in a white uniform. I wasn't crazy about the military, but it worked for me at the time, and it taught me what I was good for."

"Which was?" I dug into my dinner with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. I wasn't much hungry, but I didn't want to insult the cook.

"I liked working with talented people and trying to get the best out of them. So when I figured out I wasn't going to set the world on fire in science, I went for a law degree, where I…well… honed my powers of persuasion." He squinted at me. "I don't know if I should even be admitting this to you."

"I won't tease you – I promise. Well … maybe I will, but just a little bit."

He smiled ruefully. "So, all those factors finally lead me to the OSI, where I found fairly quickly that I could do the boss's job better than he could. I don't mean to sound arrogant, but it's true."

"I don't doubt it. And did it give you satisfaction?"

"It did, for a long time." He was poking at his food listlessly. Either he was really missing that steak, or he, like me, had too many butterflies in his stomach to make room for food.

"So…if you could have that again, where you initiated projects, but didn't have to deal with the stuff you hate - like Jack - would you go back?"

He shook his head, almost impatiently. "They wouldn't take me back, even if I wanted to go. I've proven myself to be a wild card. Unreliable."

It was so obvious to me – he had removed himself so completely from the work he had given his life to he that he now had no context, and he didn't know how to adapt – or didn't want to. He had lost all sense of his value in the world. What a vulnerable pair we made.

"But just pretend for a moment that they would," I insisted, "would you _want_ to go back?"

"Maybe." he shrugged, "but it's a moot point."

"You know, I think there's such thing as being _too _reliable." I offered. "I think you might find you command more respect if you can't be taken for granted."

He shook his head again, causing me to launch into the lecture I'd been saving up, and that took the rest of the meal. Russ and I had many conversations in the months after Oscar had disappeared, and I had a pretty clear notion of what his absence meant. Russ was happy running the OSI (in fact he said it was a lot easier without the boss messing things up by breaking rules and budgets), but by his own admission he didn't have Oscar's "vision", and that was proving to be something of a problem. He also missed Oscar's intricate network of contacts and his commanding personality. He was not alone in this feeling – the Secretary was apparently now often heard to sigh, "What would Goldman do?"

Somehow Oscar found all this information quite unbelievable, interjecting suspiciously, "You're trying to rescue me, aren't you?"

"Pretty much." I replied, and continued talking. He continued to frown and shake his head and generally resist my protestations that he was needed and missed by a whole bunch of people. "Silly man." I sighed finally. "I know how we'll settle this." I stacked the plates and cutlery and marched up the path to the cabin.


	7. Chapter 7

"What are you doing?" he asked as we entered the cabin, Max bringing up the rear.

"You'll see." I picked up the phone and dialed. If he wouldn't listen to me, surely he would take the word of a colleague. "Russ?" I barked, "I've got a guy here who thinks he has no place in Washington anymore. Would you mind setting him straight please? And would you especially tell him what you think he's good for and what you think his weaknesses are? And be honest. Thanks."

Handing the phone to Oscar with a significant look, I folded my arms and listened in as Russ repeated virtually everything I'd said over dinner.

"Uh huh." Oscar would say occasionally, glancing my way, or "Oh yeah?" When Russ had finally wound down, he thanked him quietly and hung up. I didn't think it would be possible for him to look any more perplexed than he had all evening, but he did.

"Hmm." he said, walking past me to the kitchen. He filled the sink to wash the dishes and plunged his hands into the soapy water. He washed very slowly, bemused and preoccupied.

"Well?" I demanded, picking up a tea towel.

"He said he thinks that operations are not my forte." he said, sounding offended.

"You don't _like_ operations, Oscar, remember? Lots of stress, plenty of dealings with Bill Parr…"

"Hmm." he grumbled.

"But he did say you're missed, didn't he?"

He hesitated, and then answered reluctantly. "Pretty much."

"Well, are you convinced?" I pressed.

His only answer was to tip his head to one side and grimace noncommittally. I sighed, but refrained from pushing him further.

"Tisk tisk." I said instead, examining the first plate he handed me. There was a bit of corn stuck to the rim. I leaned close to him to point it out, my shoulder touching his. Just that tiny bit of contact pushed my internal thermostat up several degrees.

He pursed his lips and shot me a dirty look as I slipped it back into the dishwater. "One of those, are you?" he said.

"Oh no, look at this!" I said reprovingly, glaring at the next plate, once again leaning into him, this time closer.

"What?" he asked, with exaggerated impatience.

"You've scrubbed the glaze right off this one."

He shook his head and suppressed a smile and I wiped the plate dry and placed it on the shelf.

As all the china in the cabin was old and battered, every dish I dried offered me opportunity to accuse him of carelessness in his handling of them. He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes and tried to defend himself, clearly enjoying the game as much as I was. After I'd blamed him for the big chip in the rim of the last coffee cup, my head practically resting on his shoulder, he grabbed the tea towel from me and dried his hands wearing a look I couldn't quite identify –as though he were facing down some sort of challenge.

"Pest." he muttered. He crossed the small kitchen, folded the tea towel over the handle of the old oven door, and turned to me abruptly. "You can back away from that Lover's Leap right now. No hard feelings. I mean it."

I had to catch up – I was still enjoying the light heartedness of the last few moments, and when I realized what he was saying, my knees buckled a little.

"No thanks." I said, my voice much smaller than I intended.

He almost looked as though he was in pain – there was a vulnerability in his face I had never seen before. In an instant he was holding me tight, his hand in the centre of my back, pressing me to him, holding his heart to mine.

"Jaime…" he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too." I replied, flinging my arms around him, tears welling in my eyes.

"I was trying to pretend I could get along without you…but I've been so lost and desperate…and…" He halted a moment, his breath shaky. "I didn't even know I was lonely I was until I fell in love with you."

"And…" I murmured, "…I didn't know how much I loved you until you were gone. I didn't know how lonely I was until you weren't there anymore…"

"Hmm…" he chuckled quietly, nuzzling his cheek to mine. "Do you know how much you changed me? You made me see that I could laugh occasionally, and that maybe I didn't have all my priorities straight, that there was more to life than space launches." He pressed me closer to him, leaving me breathless as I experienced the strength of his body and the strength of his emotions. "I need you Babe. I'm a lesser person without you."

Each word he said made my love for him more achingly real. Each moment in his embrace melted me into him. "Oscar…" I murmured, too overcome to say more. I was holding onto him as though I were hanging on for dear life, my face against his neck, my lips pressed to the pulse that was thumping rapidly under his skin. I don't know how long we stood there, but my happiness was perfect.

"Thank you for coming back." he said, kissing my face softly. "Thank you for being so patient…"

He nuzzled his lips to mine, and he kissed me with a passion that made the kisses we had shared months earlier look like mere pecks. My body was a riot of desire, but I wasn't ready to give in to that need just yet. He must have felt the same, because he lead me into the living room, lit a fire, and we snuggled together on that trusty old daybed. Why rush life's most precious moments? We cuddled and caressed and held each other and talked half the night. It was so beautiful to just hold him in my arms, to shelter him as he sheltered me, to feel him, and to love him.

It was there that we formed the first tentative plans for our future together. We had to get him back to Washington right away – that much was certain. He was incredulous that I would be willing to move there, but I assured him I was. For now, we would live at his house, and then we would look for something that could be ours together. He insisted he would put me through grad school, so, as he put it, I could 'put him through' retirement. We talked a lot about his workaholic tendencies, and I was very frank with him about it. I told him it would erode our relationship very quickly if he were to slip back into those patterns. He promised faithfully that he was a changed man with new priorities, but nonetheless asked me to keep an eye on him, because he was "an old dog, after all".

I told him I had a dream that he and I would work on something wholly positive that didn't require secrecy and super strength. Together, using my conviction and his connections we would lobby for literacy programs for kids and adults. He added to that his desire to improve scientific literacy, which I thought was a terrific idea, especially if my own scientific literacy improved along the way. He was genuinely enthusiastic and I was delighted. By two in the morning life was looking more promising and more exciting than I had imagined it could be just a couple of days earlier.

Finally, as the fire died down, just as I was thinking that talk was a lot less captivating than the prospect of making love, between kisses he whispered in my ear, "You know, my bed has a big dip in it that makes you roll into the middle. I think that might suit us right about now."

I don't know what to call it – crumbling or melting or dissolving, but it was the most beautiful and most fulfilling lovemaking I've ever experienced - like milk swirling into coffee, or a river flowing into the ocean, becoming one beautiful entity with another human being - something that is bigger than the whole universe, and yet exists only in the small, private world of two very fortunate people.

There was something he did for me that night that I didn't think to ask him about until much later, and then he answered me reluctantly. That night my body came alive in a way it had not for years. Instead of being a torso with some useful but numb limbs attached, I was once again a whole human being. There was some way he touched me that made me _feel_. When I finally pulled it out of him some months later, he told me, with a sly smile, that he knew where the 'sweet spots' were, (yes, I blushed) and then when pressed further, he told me that there are certain points on my legs and arms where Rudy installed sort of primitive nerve bundles, so that I could sense where my limbs were in space, and how much weight was on them. Being so deeply involved with Rudy's development of bionics, he knew exactly where these points were, and how much it took to stimulate them. For a moment the idea disturbed me, imagining him seeing me as a set of mechanical blueprints, but then I thought about the reality of it – that he made me feel whole, and womanly, desired and desirable – precisely because he knew me so well in so many ways – and then I knew I was the luckiest person in the world.

We were woken very early the next morning by a loud metallic BANG. If I were a normal person I would have been merely startled, but having been made completely un-normal by the OSI, I was sitting upright - panicked, my heart racing - practically before I'd opened my eyes. Some part of me had been expecting the NSB to swoop down on us all night long. It didn't help that the noise had set Max off into a barking frenzy.

"It's okay, Max! Stop!" Oscar bellowed. "It's okay, Babe." He gently pulled me back down wrapped me in his arms and kissed my forehead.

"What was that?!" I gasped, my heart still doing double time. "Max!" I called. "Come!" Being the good dog that he is, he stopped barking and immediately appeared at the bedroom door, and in the next instant was settled on the bed, satisfied that he had sent the marauders packing.

"It's a squirrel." Oscar said. "Every morning he bombs my truck with pine cones."

"You're kidding!" I giggled. "That's hilarious. Every morning? Is he from the NSB?"

"One of Bill's top agents."

Before the smile had even left my lips I was struck by an awful thought. "I can't make you go back!" I blurted, propping myself up to look in his eyes. "This is how life should be. Loud bangs should come from squirrels bombing your truck – not from actual bombs or real gunshots – maybe we should just hide out here forever."

"It's going to be okay, Babe." He smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "We have to go back." In his eyes I could see his perfect faith in me. When someone looks at you that way, it's both wonderful and scary – scary because you don't ever, ever, want to let that person down.

He was so calm, and I felt so loved, so treasured, and so entirely safe, I couldn't hang onto my anxieties for very long. We could handle anything together.

"I love this place." he said wistfully. "I love it even more now than I did yesterday."

"I love it too." I murmured, turning my gaze to the treetops visible just outside the window. There was a little red squirrel sitting up there, flicking his tail, and I wondered if that was Oscar's implacable enemy.

"What do you say we buy it?" Oscar suggested excitedly. "Hocksteader told me he'd sell it to me. We could come every summer. Two or three months here – wouldn't that be great?"

I immediately picked up his enthusiasm, but then my response was tempered by practicality. "I would love that…but you know my financial situation…" I replied uneasily.

"Oh, stop." Oscar replied. Last night it had taken him the better part of an hour to convince me that I should accept his offer to put me through grad school. "Really. What's mine is yours. I mean that. Like I said, you can support me when I'm old."

"Well then - yes!" I grinned. I snuggled myself on top of him and kissed his neck. "You don't have to ask me twice. Do you really think we'll manage to come every summer?"

"We'll make sure we do. _I'll _make sure we do. Part of that new leaf I'm turning over."

There is nothing nicer than lying in bed with the one you love on a fresh summer morning. If you get up, there are all sorts of delightful potentials for the day. If you stay in bed, there are even more delightful potentials for the day.

"There's one other thing, we haven't talked about…" he added slowly.

"What?"

"Well, I think that this place is somewhat wasted on adults…there should be… kids… here... if … you think… there should be kids here."

"Kids?!" I repeated, lifting myself to look at him. "Really?" I've never taken it for granted that children were in my future, especially after the accident, and it seemed too much to hope that Oscar might want a family, so I had put that dream aside. "But… I don't really know if I can have kids…"

"We could adopt." he shrugged.

"Is that what you really want?" I still couldn't believe my ears, but his eyes told me he meant it.

"That's what I'm telling you."

"Well. A new job for you, school for me, a new house, a literacy program, a house in Montana - and now kids! We're going to be very, very, busy people!" I laughed.

"We're going to be very, very, happy people, Babe."

I've always marveled how life turned out much as we had planned on that first night together. We shared two of the most blissful days of my life in that cabin before we packed up and headed eastward. I wanted to stay forever, but we figured that Oscar's presence in Montana would be common knowledge sooner rather than later.

By the time I started taking courses at Georgetown University in the winter semester, Oscar was fully and happily ensconced in a position at the OSI made just for him – one that freed him from the actual daily running of the place, and left him to what he was best at – research and development. I had been right (I love it when I'm right) – he was welcomed back into the fold with much backslapping and only a few gentle questions, and treated better than he had been before he left. I had to sit on him a bit to stop him from taking on too much, but then he had to do the same for me, because, as we discovered the moment I got back to school – I'm a workaholic too! I love school.

We got our little "Literacy Lobby" going at the very first cocktail party we attended in DC, and that has been going great guns since then. Our next project will be to start battling pollution – but then might be a few years away because there's another project that demands a lot of our time and attention. Her name is Amelia (yes, named after Amelia Earhart – as a boy Oscar had fallen in love with the intrepid pilot, and was heartbroken when she disappeared. I used to pretend I was her when I sat way high up in the trees looking out over the rolling California hills, imagining myself in the cockpit with goggles and a blowing scarf.) Amelia Anne Goldman is a constant delight, a bright and vivacious little girl who seems to be the best of both of us. Oscar didn't quite know what to do with her when she was tiny, but as soon as she started walking and talking they became as thick as thieves. Sometimes, when I watch them together I am so reminded of my relationship with my own Dad it moves me to tears.

Because Amelia is my first priority, my education has been advancing slowly. I'm working on my Master's thesis right now, and maybe when Amie is in school I'll get around to my PhD - or I might go straight into practice. I'm not sure yet. I don't mind either way. It's a wonderful luxury when all your options are exciting ones.

Oscar and I have been married for seven years now. It's not a perfect relationship, but then I never expected it to be – because perfection, even if it were possible, is boring. We don't always see eye to eye, especially if I think he's being obtuse, or he thinks I'm being impetuous. But I love him deep down in my bones, and trust him to the ends of the earth. He would do anything for me and I would do anything for him, and that's close enough to perfect for me. I tell him he is my best rescue project, and he tells me I am his best project _period._

Every summer we go to Montana and spend a minimum of three weeks at the lake, but when we can we prefer to take two months. Sometimes it requires moving Heaven and Earth just to get there, but we know it's worth it. It's kind of like the heart of our lives, the place where the best potentials are realized, where all the noise of life is stripped away and we just have each other, and we relearn how wonderful that is. Amelia, now five, has become fast friends with Lyle's granddaughter Cynthia, and right now they're chattering away together on the beach, having invented little characters from rocks and built houses and schools and roads for them from leaves and bits of driftwood. Max, now quite elderly, is dosing in the sun nearby, while Oscar and I sit in lawn chairs and read. Tomorrow Rudy and Louise arrive for a week's stay. Rudy will fish, and he and Oscar will be content to hang around together saying not much of anything. Louise and I will gossip and cook and take the boat out to explore the islands with Amie. (Bull Island is my favorite – I love navigating the shallows.) The fact we're having guests tomorrow makes this quiet moment with my family all the sweeter. I did end up with that 'picket fence life' after all. A husband and a child, a career – pretty standard stuff – except that my life is more satisfying, more challenging, and more secure than I could ever have imagined it to be. As though he knows what I'm thinking, Oscar looks up from his book and lazily extends his hand to me. I take it in mine, and we smile at each other.


End file.
